


Snatches

by Transom (ThegoodshipRickyl)



Series: Clash Slash Trash [3]
Category: The Clash
Genre: Aborted blowjob, Bittersweet, Emotional Constipation, Joe is insecure, Love Confessions, M/M, Mick tries to keep it real, Partially Clothed Sex, get ready cos these boys are dumb, sort-of cheating?, unofficial honeymoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6491002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThegoodshipRickyl/pseuds/Transom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick & Joe's 1978 San Francisco summer of love</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Joe had a first row seat on their hotel room balcony to watch the sun go down past the city of San Francisco. His legs stuck out through the railings and his cigarette threatened to extinguish in the breeze that ruffled his freshly showered hair. Across the street, a gull strutted across the rooftop of the Chinese restaurant, and the occasional tourist strolled the sidewalk below. Joe blew a deep breath through the bars and knocked his dangling feet together. Behind him, Mick's presence became known to him with the light thudding of bare feet on carpet and the metallic scrape of a lighter.

 

Joe turned to see Mick leaning against the sliding glass door, eyes squinting as he brought his cigarette up. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just a pair of old trousers, and some socks that looked almost as bad.

 

Joe jerked his head as a gesture for Mick to join him, straightening his back and giving a pleased little wiggle when he did. Mick sat with his back to the sunset, so Joe could look at him face to face, and their smoke joined briefly before dispersing into the warm, pink-tinged summer air. Mick reached up to take Joe by the lapel and pull him in for a kiss, fast enough to take him a bit by surprise but slow enough to keep the mood intact. They broke apart and both had to hold their breath, with Joe leaning forward to put his forehead against the bars and letting his arms stick through so all four of his limbs were dangling three stories over Chinatown. His cigarette died out and he let it go to swirl a path through the breeze to the street below.

 

"If I were the kind of geezer who could write a song about this," he muttered a little bitterly, and Mick sniffed a chuckle next to him. He smiled and nudged Mick's shoulder before burying his face into the crook of his neck.

 

"'s'nice," Mick replied softly. "Can't deny that."

 

"This whole _time's_ been nice," Joe murmured. "Good to get away."

 

"Can't feel Bernie breathing down my neck."

 

"Can't feel the British _public_ breathing down my neck. Or the _press_. Or the _biz_."

 

"Yeah," Mick sighed. "Well. Now _I_ got _you_ breathing all over my neck."

 

Joe squirmed but didn't straighten up, and if anything, nestled himself further into Mick. He slid his arm underneath Mick's and hugged it close to him. "We'll get 'em, yeah?"

 

"Yeah." Mick stubbed his cigarette out and used his newly free hand to run his fingers through Joe's hair. "We will, Joe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... Here we go with this one. After Joe & Mick's epic failure of a Jamaican honeymoon, they travelled to San Francisco to work on _Give 'Em Enough Rope_ with Sandy Pearlman. This vacation went much better. According to _Passion is a Fashion_ , they "relaxed and enjoyed each other's company" in a hotel in Chinatown, Joe (kinda) dragged Mick to see Emmylou Harris, and they watched _Animal House_ in theatres five times, in between working with Pearlman at the Automatt. Everything else that happens in this sad little fic is a complete, dirty rotten lie and I already know I'm going straight to hell for all of it. Cheers!


	2. Chapter 2

Once again the door to the balcony was open, but there was nobody out there. Instead, the breeze drifted through to light upon the two forms lying on the bed like a pair of lazy cats, semi-entwined and smoking cigarettes, with the television murmuring in the background.

 

Mick sighed and picked up the remote to flip through the handful of channels again, settling on a baseball game when Joe put his hand on his arm.

 

"Wait. I wanna see what it's all about."

 

"It's _cricket_ ," Mick scoffed. "But _weird_."

 

Joe shook his head but didn't take his eyes off the screen. Mick watched him watch the game for a few minutes, watched his face gradually scrunch into mild confusion. He took his dying cigarette from him and put it out along with his own, getting an appreciative, absent-minded grunt in return. He settled back against Joe with his arm slung over the headboard and their bodies pressed alongside each other from hip to foot. The air was on the cooler side of warm, and Joe wore a thin sheet that Mick had opted to kick off so it would only cover him from the knees down.

 

The baseball game wore on for while, filling the lull between local advertisements and nine o'clock news previews, and Mick felt the minutes slipping by like he was losing a chance. Joe was so close, so painfully _there_ , so clearly _not_ paying attention to the TV that all it would take was one whispered word. And Mick did whisper it.

 

"Joe?"

 

Joe eyes flickered to him curiously; there was trepidation in his look, though he still leaned in a microscopic distance to Mick, who reached for his face, fingertips brushing along the line of his jaw.

 

Joe flinched. His eyes flicked back to the TV like it would rescue him. "We're in _bed_ ," he whispered, croaking.

 

"We're in _San Francisco_ ," Mick countered softly, then leaned in to press his lips to the spot behind Joe's ear. Joe's breath hitched and his body tensed. Mick pulled away.

 

Joe wasn't looking at him. "You're having me on," he whined, like a dejected child, pulling the sheet up to his chest.

 

Mick huffed impatiently. "I _want_ you, you clot."

 

Mick watched a million counter-arguments march across Joe's face, but none went vocalized. He sighed and ran a hand through Joe's hair, scratching through it a little like he would a cat. He brought their lips together gently and soon Joe was sinking down into the bed, letting Mick settle partially on top of him. Mick had to part him from his sheet, sliding it off and flinging it towards the end of the bed. Joe broke their kiss to catch his breath and say the one word that made Mick's heart race.

 

"Alright."

 

Mick nearly laughed in relief, putting his smile into their kiss and feeling it cautiously mirrored. They broke apart again and he propped himself above Joe, locking his elbows and blowing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "You sure?"

 

Joe chuckled. "Yeah. But I ain't the one who should be askin'. Look who you're slumming it with, mate!"

 

Mick rolled his eyes and shut him up with a kiss, lowering his body onto Joe's chest and running one hand down Joe's side while the other kept them held close together.

 

Joe grunted and struggled underneath him, and for a moment Mick was terrified and nearly leapt from him until he saw the somewhat shy, mischievous grin on his lips. "How can I get my kit off with you climbing all over me?" Joe explained, pulling his white t-shirt over his head.

 

Mick followed suit and soon fell upon him again, interest renewed by all the skin now available to touch. He was hungry for Joe now, and eager to make a mess of him, wanting to take him apart bit by bit.

 

" _God_ , Micky," Joe groaned as Mick pressed kisses into his neck and chest. He whimpered when Mick's fingers brushed teasingly past the front of his jeans in favor of closing over his hipbone and squeezing while he scraped his teeth over his ribs.

 

Joe was squirming, trying to get his jeans off, a task Mick refused to make easier by giving him any space whatsoever, so Joe had to settle for opening his fly and pulling his cock out to stroke it a few times before grabbing Mick by the hips to grind it eagerly against him. Mick paid him little mind, choosing to stay on his current route of leaving slow, teasing kisses all down his band mate's body until he was racked with helpless pleasure and begging for a quick release.

 

It would have been a better plan had Mick not felt the desperate stirring so badly himself, an ache in his hips that led him to make little rutting motions against Joe's leg as he crawled his way back up to take Joe's mouth again. Soon they were grinding and writhing against each other without a care or a further plan, just a pair of single-minded bodies with the same dark craving. Joe fell first, with a ragged cry followed by a string of deep, shaking breaths, some tailing off into little desperate whines. The sounds of Joe slipping away drove Mick past his own breaking point and into his own litany of satisfied moans and hitching breaths. Mick's head fell to Joe's shoulder and he caught his breath as Joe's hands held him cautiously.

 

"Christ," Joe muttered, pushing Mick to the side just enough so his weight wasn't completely on top of him.

 

"I _know_ ," Mick agreed with a chuckle, sliding his hand down Joe's chest to grab for his waist. "C'mere."

 

Joe grunted and complied and they kissed, still breathing hard. They parted and Joe slumped back against his pillow, leaving Mick to watch him in the low light. His hair was a mess and the rest of him looked just as wrecked, from his hickey-covered bare chest to his still-unbuttoned jeans. He was flushed pink all over and kept looking up at Mick with a shy little half-grin.

 

"You look happy," Mick blurted. He blushed a little but didn't look away as Joe brought his hand up to nibble on his nails. Mick frowned. "You _can_ be, you know. Just let it be, yeah?"

 

Joe went still and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "With me?"

 

"Of course," Mick reached for his hand and kissed his shoulder at the same time before sliding away to sit on the edge of the bed. "Now, d'you want a fag-then-shower, or a shower-then-fag?"

 

He groaned and threw his free arm over his eyes. "None of the above. Me sleep now."

 

Mick rolled his eyes, letting go of his hand. "Suit yourself."

 

After a quick shower, Mick found Joe fast asleep on the bed, sheet tangled up with his feet and his thin body curled against the mild breeze still pushing through the balcony. Mick covered him up, trying not to wake him, and got his cigarette pack off the nightstand. He slid one out quietly and headed for the balcony, feeling suddenly exhausted as the air hit his face. He winced at the city lights and leaned against the doorway heavily, taking his first drag and heaving it out in a true blue-collar style.

 

After taking in the view of their slice of the city and seeing nothing of particular interest, he let himself think of Joe. A shudder rolled through him when he thought of what they had done, and he sighed contentedly. It was their time, finally.


	3. Chapter 3

They had decided to check out some shops the next day, finding a flea market that looked promising. Joe proudly found some old cowboy boots and they both scored some dusty, forgotten records; garage rock, blues, country. They went their separate ways after the record stall, agreeing to reconvene at the cafe down the corner.

 

Mick finished first and took a seat at one of the tables outside, with a salad for him and french fries for Joe when he returned. He crossed his legs and settled down to watch the passersby and listen to the variety of languages spoken against the backdrop of that particular laid-back West Coast English. Joe arrived with a jaunt in his step, scooting past a tall, thin Asian woman with a little girl in tow. He plopped down next to Mick with a blown-out breath, looking a little flushed from exertion in the warm weather, and Mick raised his eyebrow, questioning.

 

"Got to talking," Joe explained, setting his plastic shopping bag next to his feet and looking down at his fries. "Bit odd, these."

 

Mick shrugged. "They like 'em skinny here." He chewed a bite of salad for a while, watching Joe tentatively begin eating his food. "My mum, she used to tell me all about American food whenever she wrote."

 

"Oh yeah?"

 

Mick nodded. "She said she wished she could send me Mexican along with the comics and things."

 

Joe smiled, his eyes crinkling. "Be nice to send some of this stuff to Paul and Tops."

 

They shared a comfortless look and Mick felt his appetite suddenly fade. He reached for his trouser pocket and pulled out a key chain with a small replica of a silver six-shooter dangling at the end of it. "Paul's," he said, tossing it towards Joe.

 

Joe rummaged in his bag and in return came up with a pack of terrycloth wristbands, green and white. "Topper's."

 

They fell silent after that, glancing at each other occasionally but mostly keeping to themselves. They managed to finish most of their food and stood to leave, then made their way through the crowds and back to the hotel, still quiet all throughout. Topper and Paul's gifts were placed on the nightstand alongside Mick's spare fag pack, while the rest of their purchases were thrown on the bed. They were due in the studio shortly, and had to leave their little room. Joe lingered at the door until Mick touched the small of his back with the tips of his fingers and kept his hand there until they reached the end of the hallway, where he let his arm drop and he sighed without looking back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter was my problem child. I'm still not 100% happy with it, but there ya go.

The mid-afternoon sun was pounding on the concrete sidewalk when Joe and Mick left the movie theater. They had gone to a matinee showing so they could get to the studio later that evening, but they still had some time to kill, to enjoy a lazy afternoon in the company of the fair weather and each other.

 

Mick gestured for Joe to follow him as he took off the opposite way they came to the theater. "I wanna get lost. A bit," he explained, so Joe just shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets and jogged to catch up.

 

The sidewalk led them past shops and diners, and a little hotel that looked exactly like theirs in its complete shabby uniqueness. Soon, however, they found themselves in a faceless industrial zone, virtually deserted except for a light breeze that flitted through the alleys and the car parks, through the sheet metal buildings and obligatory rows of trees.

 

Mick found himself walking a little closer next to Joe, who looked up at him with a small, affectionate smile. Their shoulders touched, and Mick's stomach twisted pleasantly, as he was hit with a flood of warm feeling for his friend. He couldn't help but notice that Joe had the beginnings of a tan, his hair had a healthy shine in the sun, and - what made his heart race the most - there was a low heat simmering in his eyes that was clearly meant for him.

 

Mick wanted to take his hand; his elbow had to suffice as he pulled him into an empty alley behind a storage building. Joe made a noise halfway between a surprised yelp and a giggle as Mick crowded him against the warm corrugated metal, the grommets in his belt clanking as his body made contact. Mick quickly had a knee between his legs, both hands gripping his waist like a vice, and his nose an inch from the juncture of his jaw and neck. He didn't kiss him but let him dangle on a string, just touching, wrapped in heat that flared wherever their bodies met, wherever their breath was trapped between them.

 

Joe groaned like he was trying to hold it back. His head thunked against the wall and Mick took the opportunity to suck a kiss into his exposed throat. Joe tucked his chin down in surprise, nearly clipping Mick's nose right off.

" _Fuck_ ," Mick whimpered, embarrassed, covering his nose with his hand, though it wasn't bleeding and he knew the pain wouldn't last for very long.

 

" _Shit_ , mate," Joe gasped, grabbing Mick's shoulders. The look of fright on his face made Mick let out a chuckle that quickly turned into a pained moan.

 

"Don't _worry_ ," he managed, offering Joe a watery smile.

 

Joe returned it hesitantly. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "Does it need ice?" His voice was tinged with as much amusement as concern.

 

Mick shook his head. He leaned beside Joe against the wall. "I just wanted a bit of a kiss!" he complained. "Didn't expect to be _assaulted_ in an alley!"

 

Joe blushed and ducked his head. He reached for Mick's hand and gently rubbed his thumb across his knuckles. "I can make it up to you," he said, eyes searching intently, voice low enough to make Mick shudder.

 

Mick was now the one with his back to the wall, with Joe moving to press himself against him. Mick's nose still throbbed dully, but it wasn't long before the blood was returning southward, with Joe latching onto his neck and moving their hips together.

 

"What are you gonna do?" Mick gasped, clawing at Joe's sides to touch him as much as possible. "What're you planning?"

 

Joe moaned against the crook of his shoulder. "Wanna get on my knees for ya," he muttered, squirming eagerly against Mick.

 

Mick chuckled nervously. "Here?"

 

" _Anywhere_ , mate," and Mick could feel Joe's devilish grin against his skin. He ran his hands through Joe's hair as Joe continued to make a potentially embarrassing mess of his neck.

 

Mick fought to clear his mind, trying to remember where the hell he was. "I dunno," he said finally, amassing all his willpower to not just shove Joe to the ground and get on with it. Joe stopped too, and Mick shut his eyes; suddenly there was an inch of space between them that felt cold in the summer afternoon.

 

Joe must have recovered his composure, as the next thing Mick felt were his fingers skimming past his stomach to tug at the front of his trousers. "You sure?"

 

Mick gulped and nodded, offering Joe a watery smile. "I'll have to wear a _scarf_ as it is," he mused, rubbing at all the fresh marks that were blooming on his neck.

 

Joe ducked his head almost too quickly for Mick to catch his shy smile. He moved his hand to casually slip his first two fingers through one of Mick's belt loops, and pressed his palm against Mick's hipbone, rubbing a little with his thumb, a pleasant pressure that nearly made Mick groan. They were still just inches apart, and Joe leaned forward to rest his forehead against Mick's shoulder with a soft sigh.

 

"Let's go back, yeah?" he murmured, a quiet rumble against Mick's skin. Mick gave Joe's shoulder a squeeze as Joe backed away, allowing Mick to push off the wall. Mick caught his eye for a moment before he looked away, his shoulders tucked up and his hands in his pockets again.

 

Mick thought for a minute to offer him something, an apology or a promise, but held back, silently following him out of the alley instead. He was glad that Joe seemed to know where he was going, because he knew that he wouldn't have been able to find his way back if he had a trail of neon arrows and a spirit guide, even without the distracting pulse of regret that dogged his every step.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> headcanon: Joe is a manwhore, and Mick (usually) doesn't mind
> 
>  
> 
> ps - sorry this took a while, especially considering how garbage it is

Joe came stumbling in one night like he was on the run from the law. Mick was startled awake by the carelessly slammed door and sat straight up in their bed. He heard Joe groan tiredly and turned on the lamp so he could see if he was alright.

 

He looked _very_ alright, if the flush on his cheeks and the marks all over his neck were any indication. He passed by and Mick caught the smell of perfume and sweat, but Joe mostly ignored him as he set his room key and cigarettes on the nightstand, before diving into the bed next to Mick.

 

He wrapped their blanket around himself and flopped onto his back, groaning again, this time in contentment, and looked up at Mick innocently. "Didn't mean to wake ya," he said with a toothy grin.

 

Mick shrugged, playing with the loose threads on the edge of the blanket. "I'm just pleased you're alright," he muttered. "You met somebody."

 

Joe put his hands behind his head and smiled to himself. "I met somebody." He looked back up at Mick, still grinning. "And she was _tops_ , mate. I _mean_ it."

 

Mick closed his eyes and turned away. "Why are you back 'ere, then?"

 

A short, hoarse chuckle came from Joe's throat. "She had someone else lined up for the night," he told him. "I couldn't stick around." A few moments later, he added, "Maybe I should've though. _He_ was almost as good."

 

Mick struggled to contain a peeved groan. "Maybe you _should've_."

 

Joe pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Micky, I - "

 

"Don't." Mick held up a hand. "I don't care."

 

Joe held his tongue. Mick kept him in the corner of his eye, watched him chew his nails and stare ahead, frowning.

 

He sighed. "Joe.... It's alright. I'm not...I'm not going to be like that. I won't." He looked down at his own hands as they twisted in his lap. "I'm not your nagging girlfriend or anything, yeah? So it's fine."

 

Joe gave him a level look. "Don't seem like it."

 

Mick tensed and felt anger brewing under his skin. "Whatever, Joe. Even if it _was_ like that, I wouldn't care. I know how you _are_."

 

"Did Bernie call earlier?" Joe asked out of nowhere, his eyes narrowing.

 

"Yeah?" Mick said hesitantly. "What's that got to do with anything?"

 

Joe's gaze didn't back down. "You always get this way when he gets involved. Like you have to yank me back from him or something."

 

"The fuck are you on about?"

 

Joe got up from the bed, tossing the blanket aside. "Fuck _you_ , is what I'm on about. You don't have to crawl up my arse every time Bernie asks a fucking question, alright?"

 

"He just wanted to know how it was _going_ , Joe!" Mick pleaded, shocked and confused. "I didn't even think twice about it!"

 

" _Liar_ ," Joe spat. "You wrung your hands over it, didn't you? You said to yourself, 'Hey, I don't have full fucking control over this particular situation, I better be a great _cunt_ to my best mate! Who I think I _own_." 

 

Mick gaped at him. "You _are_ an ego for the ages, aren't you?" he countered, voice low and packed with venom. "If you think I'm sitting here thinking about _you_ all night long.... Fucking _forget_ it, Joe." He slid out from under the blanket and stood up, grabbing his cigarettes and heading for the balcony, not looking back at Joe in his wake.

 

The night air outside was smoky; Mick figured there must have been a fire nearby, and vaguely recalled hearing sirens earlier, though his memory was admittedly foggy. He smoked with trembling fingers, and hoped he was shaking with anger rather than fear. He watched the pigeons on the balcony next to theirs and thought about London and all they had left behind.

 

The moon hung overhead, shining through the haze and glinting off the sliding glass door as Mick turned and leaned against the balcony rails, putting the city at his back. Looking into their room, he couldn't see Joe, but he could see that the bathroom door was closed with light coming out the bottom of it.

.

A couple cigarettes later and Mick found himself pacing, watching the slim strip of light with a furrow in his brow. Finally he broke and stubbed out the cigarette he had just lit, throwing open the sliding door and crossing the hotel room in a few quick strides.

 

He pushed his forehead against the bathroom door, but couldn't hear anything. "Joe?" he ventured, a little tremor in his voice that he cleared out of his throat. "Alright, Joe?"

 

There was no response but Mick thought he might have heard a quiet shuffling noise, like Joe's feet moving against a rug. He pictured Joe sitting on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest, a familiar position. He shook his head and rapped his knuckles on the door.

 

"Joe. I mean it. I want to see you."

 

A distracted, annoyed grunt came from Joe's side of the door and Mick's eyebrows raised. His hand moved to the doorknob and he turned it experimentally. It gave way but he didn't open it. "Joe," he warned, "I'm coming in, alright?"

 

No response again, so Mick pushed open the door to see him just as he had pictured. He had an empty bottle at his feet and was staring at it, pointedly not looking at Mick, until he flicked his eyes up briefly.

 

Mick saw how red they were and sighed. He slid down to the floor opposite Joe, his back against the sink, and tipped the bottle over with his foot.

 

"I'm sorry," he began quietly. "I missed you."

 

Joe scoffed. "You only want me when _you_ want me," he grumbled, still looking at the fallen bottle.

 

Mick couldn't help a self-deprecating grin. "I know. Problem is, I want you all the time these days." He watched Joe intently, watched him squirm under this new information. He continued, "And I don't care about the _girls_ , or the men. I just want you _here_. At the end of the day. I dunno if it's this _city_ , or this _room_... but it's true."

 

Joe grunted in agreement and rested his chin on his knees. "Fuckin' scary, innit?"

 

"I think this is just how it goes," Mick concluded softly.

 

Joe swallowed. "Is it?" He looked away from Mick to idly pluck at the rug beneath them. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I couldn't tell that you...felt that way. Too."

 

Mick grinned wryly. "I thought I was being obvious." He got on his hands and knees to get into Joe's space. "Ready for bed, love?" he whispered, smiling to himself when Joe went pink and shuffled his feet.

 

"Yeah. I am," he said, smiling before pulling Mick in for a kiss that tasted like alcohol and cigarettes, and Mick felt it, like a confession.

 

He pulled Joe up to his feet, holding him when he wobbled slightly, and pressed him against the bathroom wall. "The rest of the time we're here," he murmured against Joe's forehead, "is _ours_ , yeah? We're ours."

 

Joe nodded and lifted his head to kiss him again, going to the tips of his toes to deepen it. Mick held him through it, until he wavered and stumbled back into the wall. Mick could feel him, tired and trembling and weak under his hands, and started him toward the bed, where he went gratefully to snuggle under the blanket and wait for Mick. He was too warm but he joined Joe anyway, holding his cold hands between his and lying with the closeness of a lover in sleep and now out.


	6. Chapter 6

Mick didn't know how to ask. Joe was lying next to him peacefully as the morning sun came into their room. He sighed in his sleep, particularly when Mick ran his fingers through his hair. Mick's heart squeezed; he didn't realize he had needed him this much.

 

Joe would be leaving later. He had arranged some crazy plan to hitch a ride with a new friend and drive across the country to New York like a meandering cowboy poet. Mick would go down to L.A. and catch a plane; they would see each other again in a matter of days. And then it would all be over.

 

New York's sun wouldn't look like this, wouldn't light up Joe's eyelashes as he slept. He would look paler in New York, Mick was sure. New York would be hot, not warm, and Joe would be pulled in a hundred different directions, except straight to Mick's body, against him in the soft San Francisco nights.

 

Mick shook his head and tore his eyes from Joe's small form curled next to him. He looked outside to the balcony, and thought of Topper, and Paul. He smiled and ducked his head, imagining Paul crushing him in a hug, and Topper giving him a smirk and a clap on the shoulder. They would greet Joe equally warmly, and maybe Paul would sneak a kiss to the top of his head, but no one would be looking, not in New York.

 

Mick couldn't stand up; Joe was holding onto his arm. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. He was desperate for a shower, maybe to wash Joe off of him, take himself inside out and get Joe out of his system. He let his head fall back against the headboard, realizing it was time.

 

"Joe?"

 

He stirred and mumbled something, slurred. Mick gently freed his arm from his light grip and poked him in the back. "Joe," he tried again. "C'mon, Joe."

 

Joe turned his head on the pillow. "Keep your _hair_ on."

 

Mick sighed and got up. "I have to get ready," he said quietly. "I'm leaving soon."

 

Joe went still, holding his breath. He pushed himself up a few inches from the bed and turned back to Mick. The look he wore was inscrutable, bravery covering something else. Mick turned away, rummaging in his suitcase for some clean clothes.

 

"You don't _have_ to yet, do you?" Joe's small voice made him stop.

 

He shrugged and fought the want to turn around. "I should, Joe." He found some trousers and a button-down shirt. "I need to."

 

"Yeah," Joe breathed in agreement. "Me too." The sheets rustled and Joe was sitting with his legs crossed on the bed when Mick finally looked at him again. He was trying to make sense of his tousled hair and the sheet that was tangled around his leg. Mick turned away, clutching his clothes against his stomach and trying to hold in a shaky breath.

 

"Hey," came Joe's voice just as he reached the bathroom door. Joe was stumbling to his feet to catch up with him. "Wait a minute, Micky," he said breathlessly, before catching Mick's lips with a small grunt. Mick regretted tasting him with his tongue, the stale alcohol and probably a dozen cigarettes, but he didn't pull away until Joe starting going weak under his hands and gasped for air against Mick's lips. Mick turned away as Joe leaned against the wall heavily. He closed the bathroom door, knowing when he opened it later, _his_ Joe would be long gone, San Francisco would be a memory, and everything would be different from then on.


End file.
